Some six weeks later I found myself in Morocco (coming from Spain) and on the legendary Marrakech Express. The Interrail tickets were valid for train trips in all of Europe plus one non-European country, Morocco, and so I found myself in northern Africa. At the time I was traveling with a Japanese fella I had met on the Spanish mainland, Shin, and together we befriended a young Moroccan couple on the train south. After a few days in the mystic city we somehow moved on to a small Berber village in the High Atlas mountains where we lived with the locals and I eventually contacted parathyphoid fever thanks to drinking the stream water that carried whatever good stuff came from farther up the valley.... There'd be lots of stories to tell about that time, fifty years ago. I was 18.
This time around I didn't have to overnight on European trains, lying on the floor between the railroad cars to save money, but rather I flew to Toronto in First class on American and then changed to a Royal Air Maroc flight where I enjoyed their excellent Business class. In Casablanca I had to connect to a small RMA puddle jumper for the final 45-minute hop to Marrakech. The times have certainly changed.
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| Not Lubbock, Marrakech |
Not only has the getting there seen improvements, but also the where do you stay once you have gotten there? The internet with its comprehensive and predictable access to lodging (such as Airbnbs or hotels), ride share apps, or real-time GPS navigation is something that we take for granted but that 50 years ago was in the realm of sci-fi. Sure, some of the adventure may have been lost in all that progress, but most people who travel nowadays for the first time into the Maghreb will find plenty tales of adventure to share with their friends once back home.
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| Back in the day, these fellows sold fresh water out of a skin. Nowadays, we're cursed with plastic bottles. |
I arrived on what the Brits call Boxing Day, shortly after noon. My Airbnb hostess, Fouzia, had offered to pick me up from the airport, which made life very easy. On the 40-minute drive through at-times chaotic traffic we talked up a storm and really got to like each other. Once properly installed in my apartment in the northern part of Marrakech and having cleaned up I was ready to get outside and explore the neighborhood.
Just a few blocks from The Rose apartment is a Decathlon sports store, and while walking by I saw a sign advertising rental bikes. Note taken! I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the neighborhood, using an ATM, sipping mint tea in one of the ubiquitous sidewalk cafés, and eventually eating an amazing Moroccan style ¼ chicken in a restaurant that would become the place of choice for dinner for the entire stay as it had such a varied menu of incredibly tasty dishes.
On my first full day in Marrakech, which was also the day when I was going to be joined by Birgit in the afternoon, flying in from Cologne, I went back over to the Decathlon and rented a very nice, fully functioning and safe citybike, together with a brand new helmet and a lock—all that for €8.00 for four hours. The paperwork was minimal, my French matched that of the young salespeople, and before I knew it I was cycling in a new country! The bike had a universal cell phone holder so that navigation became a breeze. Naturally, I had downloaded the Locus map for Morocco ahead of the trip, and I had mapped out a loop to Marrakech's old town the previous night.
Soon I found myself in the dense and sheer rule-less traffic close to and then in the middle of the Medina, and I had a ball surfing among the donkey carts, mopeds, tuk-tuks, and pedestrians, with everyone vying for a little bit of real estate in the narrow streets and alleyways (or less) of old town. It was just what the doctor had ordered!
Marrakech's Medina is the center of this old market town, surrounded by a wall that allows entry through a few dozen gates. All traffic passes through them, and only small vehicles, not much wider than donkey carts, will fit. The city has essentially not changed in many centuries, aside from damage thanks to occasional earthquakes or destructive fires. The Medina is a maze of tiny streets that often end in cul de sacs that are so narrow that even turning around my bike was challenging: I had to pivot the bike on its rear wheel with the front one pointed skyward.
There are shops and businesses everywhere, mobile gasoline dispensers next to the butcher who cuts meat off half a carcass suspended from the rafters. Walking is challenging, and riding a bike or a scooter is an artform. Porters will either carry large loads or push carts that are loaded to the gills with wooden planks, bundles of cloth, or assorted plastic crates that will surely come clattering down any moment. Then there are the donkeys, with side baskets filled with mint or other greenery, stoically stumbling behind their owners that lead them with a short rope. The smell of gasoline mélange that the two-stroke scooters hardly ever burn completely mixes with the scents that come from the perfumery and spice shops. And even if it is not as totally overboard as it was 50 years ago, shopkeepers still try to entice you to stop and look and buy, verrry, verrry gutt price for you, my frriend! 
My half-day bike excursion was a tour de force of impressions upon all my senses, and I loved every minute of it.
In the afternoon, Fouzia and I drove out to the airport to pick up Birgit, who came in on a Ryanair flight straight from Cologne—she swore she would never fly that airline again! Well, I had told her about that low-cost carrier's stellar reputation, but Cologne doesn't have too many choices when it comes to flights to and from Morocco.
That evening, Birgit and I went back to the same restaurant as where I had had my meal the night before. One of their specialties is the tajine, a dish prepared in the eponymous clay dish that is present in all Moroccan households (and that can be bought in a cast iron version through Amazon). Tajine can be translated to "stew," and every one of these dishes that we have eaten so far has used different spices and each had a unique flavor. Tajine can be vegetarian or protein based (so far we have had beef, lamb, chicken, and shrimp/squid), and the spices encompass the whole gamut from paprika and cumin to cardamon and coriander with generous amounts of garlic, sea salt, and ginger, plus whatever the recipe calls for (or, so it seems, whatever is available). Olive oil and confit de citron (an immensely powerful pickled type of lemon that imparts a distinctly bitter flavor on anything it comes in contact with, especially when you stick a piece in your mouth not knowing what the hell it is!!!) are used as well, and the choice of veggies is pretty much limitless. The ingredients are simmered for a long time on a gas burner, and the dish is served piping hot, in the clay pot. I can't wait to get my own tajine from Amazon and start playing with it.
With three full days until the start of the centerpiece of our time in Morocco, our two-week private tour of various parts of the country, we decided to spend two full days in Marrakech and one on a one-day excursion to a Berber village in the High Atlas mountains. No sense trying to recount what we exactly did while in Marrakech as there was no particular plan or itinerary. With the Airbnb located three or so miles away from the Medina, we relied on the inDrive rideshare app to find rides to the old town. Uber does not operate in Morocco (at least as of this writing), but inDrive is quite similar with the exception that the fare needs to be paid in cash money and one can offer a lower price than what is originally quoted. We spent between $4 to $5 for each of our transfers, which took between 20 to 30 minutes, depending on the time of day and traffic volume as well as the skills of the driver. Our last ride was truly memorable, and I wrote in my review of the driver that he "has a bright future in competitive motor sports." I was riding shotgun and recorded with my phone numerous extraordinary passes and other maneuvers—including getting change for a 100 dirham bill from a taxi speeding alongside us, windows rolled down and arm outstretched while furiously working the throttle—while Birgit was bounced around in the backseat. Fun!
We drifted through the various souqs in the Medina, many of them "themed" in that wood or leather goods may be featured in one particular (named) bazaar while another one has a high number of textile or silver goods. We saw one of the largest and elaborate traditional minarets in all of the Arab world, the Koutoubia, and of course we saw parts of the old kasbah and some of the (closed) palaces. The Djemaa el-Fna square attracts snake charmers, musicians, monkey handlers, balloon sellers, water carriers, and all kinds of peddlers hawking sweets and nuts, sunglasses, replicas of the soccer World Cup trophy, Turbo Viagra for Women, and anything else that you might (or mostly might not) need, and of course the tourist throng follows the call of the sirens. You need to see this place at least once in your lifetime, but it probably is not necessary to frequent it more than twice.
Our trip to the Atlas mountains was, unfortunately, marred by wet weather and a lack of sunshine. We were picked up from our Airbnb at 8:10 a.m., just as promised, and after collecting another eight guests across town, our driver, Mohammad, and our local guide, Moustapha, headed south to the town of Asni and onward to the Imlil valley. We stopped by a women's cooperative that produces argan oil products. I had never heard of argan oil, derived from a grape-sized nut that grows on spiny trees only here in Morocco. The oil is used for cosmetic products but is also a staple when mixed with peanuts or honey and used on the local bread. We were shown the steps in the production of argan oil and had a light breakfast at the co-op.
Once we got to the town of Imlil (incidentally, the birthplace of Moustapha who took great pride introducing us to the Berber culture, including the people's language, which differs from Arabic) we exited the minivan and went for what turned out to be a one-mile hike up to the Imlil waterfall. Together with fairly large numbers of tourists on a similar trip we had to cross some sketchy-looking short bridges; rocks and roots were slick from the mud and the moisture, but nobody went off course. At the waterfall—neither the highest, most voluminous, nor spectacular cascade I have ever seen—we had a chance for watery selfies, a glass of freshly pressed orange juice, and the obligatory mint tea before heading back to the village. The hike was pleasant, and despite the crappy weather we did glimpse snow-covered mountains and could see what a beautiful place this must have been before the tourists arrived, before plastic wrappers and bottles were carelessly tossed by the side of the paths, and before progress reached the Berber people who still call this part of the world home.
Our tour included a "traditional lunch," of course in the form of a tajine. This one was the chicken variety I had mentioned, and compared to what we had eaten before or would eat later it was bland and not very exciting. Nobody, however, complained about sitting in the warm and comfortable dining room while it sleeted outside. After a final tea we headed back down to the minivan and drove home to Marrakech. I had booked this tour, which was almost nine hours long, with Viator, and the price of about $20 per person was certainly fair and appropriate and left money over for a good tip of our two new frrriends.
Four days in Marrakech proper are long enough as the city is large (more than a million), the traffic and noise will finally get to your brain, and the hordes of tourists dilute what authenticity is left. But of course, we ourselves are the tourists, so who's talking, right? Compared to 50 years ago, today's Marrakech is certainly more modern, yet it still has preserved that oriental flavor that I found so fascinating back as an 18-year-old. That's quite different from what my takeaway was a few years ago when I went back to Istanbul for the first time in about 45 years and was deeply disappointed by how the city on the Bosphorus had changed. Since I won't live for another 50 years for another take I simply hope that Marrakech will retain some of that original charm and not let traffic and pollution ruin it all.
